


Electrico Romantico

by samshinechester



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Divorced Jensen Ackles, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, kinda broke!Jared, older Stephen Amell, past Jensen/JDM, salesman!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samshinechester/pseuds/samshinechester
Summary: As the saying goes, third time’s when the charm is supposed to happen - and in Jensen’s experience, it always does.Say, for instance, the car’s ignition? Two tries with the key, one well-aimed kick under the steering wheel, and it starts right up. Dickhead Master, that old college roommate who was a nightmare to live with? He stopped tossing used condoms under Jensen’s bed after a) a couple reminders and b) discovering one of those in his Gatorade. Ms. Reynolds, fifth floor, apartment D? The sweet lady who keeps baking him strawberry muffins even if he told her he’s allergic? Well, she’s ninety and hard of hearing, so he’s still working on that one. But. It’s the principle of the thing, two strikes, one score, that’s Jensen’s life philosophy and he’s sticking to it.By that logic, he should have Jared waiting at the altar within the next few days. Jared and that damn toaster of his, of course.





	Electrico Romantico

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



As the saying goes, third time’s when the charm is supposed to happen - and in Jensen’s experience, it always does. 

Say, for instance, the car’s ignition? Two tries with the key, one well-aimed kick under the steering wheel, and it starts right up. Dickhead Master, that old college roommate who was a nightmare to live with? He stopped tossing used condoms under Jensen’s bed after a) a couple reminders and b) discovering one of those in his Gatorade. Ms. Reynolds, fifth floor, apartment D? The sweet lady who keeps baking him strawberry muffins even if he told her he’s allergic? Well, she’s ninety and hard of hearing, so he’s still working on that one. But. It’s the principle of the thing, two strikes, one score, that’s Jensen’s life philosophy and he’s sticking to it.

By that logic, he should have Jared waiting at the altar within the next few days. Jared and that damn toaster of his, of course.

Uh. Okay.

Let’s backtrack a little.

*

Jensen works at _high-end, kitchen appliance luxury store_ (that’s part of the spiel he was forced to learn during training, thank you very much), which is less cool than it sounds and so not what he had in mind when he graduated. Back then, he wanted to work _in_ a kitchen, sous-cheffing his way to the top rather than selling overpriced blenders, but. Bills to be paid, a new mortgage to be signed off on soon, and all that.

What really takes the cake, however, is the entitlement of the customers. Some are pretty nice, but seventy percent of them are just flat-out crazy. They want coffee machines that connect both with their workplace and Aunt Helen’s summer house in Melbourne, or refrigerators fully stocked with gourmet food, or, or a set of the priciest, shiniest cutlery available ‘with 24k custom-made gold finish, Jensen dear, it— oh, but maybe platinum? Now, what about platinum, can you do that?’.

Jensen’s developed a permanent eye twitch because of cutlery.

When Jared shows up for the first time, Jensen’s just wrapped up a two hour long deal with Mrs. Robinson – she got an oven and wine cooler combo, the store got ten grand, and Jensen? Well. Jensen got a pounding headache.

“Cheer up, Grumpy,” Danneel says, dropping some Motrin in his hand, and he appreciates the sentiment, he does, but he flips her the bird anyway. She’s about to go on vacation, leaving him (technically) unsupervised and (practically) alone with Chad to man the store. No amount of ibuprofen or shoulder patting can make up for that.

“Scram, Miss Hawaii-here-I-come.”

She grins, leaning against the microwaves display. “You hate the sea, the sand, the sun, and anything that resembles fun.”

“I hate Chad more,” he says, and Danneel winces.

“Good point, Jenny, but—” and then two things happen at once. Chad walks in with an armful of Roombas he’s supposed to set up the storefront with, yelling, “I hear you bitches talking shit about me!” and behind Jensen’s back, someone clears his throat.

“…excuse me?”

Goddamn it. A walk-in customer.

He and Danneel share an alarmed look, slap their professional faces on, turn around, and Jensen’s apology for Chad’s existence dies on his lips. Holy mother of fuck. At this point in time he has no idea about the guy’s name yet, but he’s 100% sure he’s just met his next husband.

_Or_ next one-night-stand, since Jensen doesn’t do relationships anymore, but eh. Details. Because, tall. And gorgeous. And dimples, Jesus Christ. He’s dressed a bit like a hobo too, but Jensen chalks it up to whatever hobo-fashion is trending among models these days and moves on. Multitasking is Jensen’s forte, he can ogle and work.

“Welcome to Kitchen Deluxe, sir. My name is—”

“Jenny?”

“Jensen,” he corrects on autopilot, hearing Danneel cough, and Chad snicker behind the Roombas. He ignores them both. He’s a pro. He can sell Hot Guy a top quality dishwasher if needs be and murder his colleagues later. Nobody will ever find their bodies inside the four-doors fridge. It’s too pretentious even for their usual clientele. 

“I do apologize for my colleagues’ rogue behavior, sir. Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, yes!” Hot Guy beams, and Jensen doesn’t even feel the kick Danneel’s just aimed at his shin. “You see, I think I fried the toaster last night and I’d really like to get it fixed.”

Odd, but he’s heard worse. 

“No problem, sir. Do you have it with you or do you want to schedule an appointment to have it repaired at your place?”

“No, no, it’s here. Look.”

Now, Jensen is expecting Hot Guy to pull out of his bag a designer toaster, maybe custom-made and with a bazillion buttons. What he’s presented with, however, is thrift shop, uh, crap. It has yellow stains on the side, the plastic is cracked, and the cord is frayed in places. When Hot Guy puts it on the counter, one of the knobs promptly falls off.

“Um,” is all Danneel says. Jensen is just as speechless, but one quick look at Hot Guy confirms that this is not a practical joke. Hot Guy is still beaming, with a dash of eagerness thrown in.

In response, Jensen amps up the wattage of his smile. Like, you know, the pro that he is. “—Sir?” 

“Jared.”

Jensen nods. “Jared.”

“Can you guys fix it? How much would that be?”

Fuck his life. Jared’s serious, and Jensen has to turn him down. Goodbye wedding bells. Goodbye all the fabulous sex he was already planning to have with him.

“Jared, I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m afraid we are unable to offer the kind of service you might need,” he says, and hopes to God he won’t have to go into details about why not.

And of course—

“But you sell and repair kitchen appliances,” Jared says, pointing toward the door. “You even have a dedicated workshop for this, I saw the sign.”

“We do, but—” and there is no way to say ‘the cheaper item we have in stock costs around 900 bucks while your toaster looks like it fell off a dumpster truck’ without sounding like an asshole, so Jensen doesn’t. Judging by Jared’s frown however, he’s heard it loud and clear anyway.

Damn.

“It’s okay.” The dimples are still there, just less deep. “Sorry for the trouble, ok? See ya.”

“Wait!”

But he’s gone already, he and the toaster both. Minus the knob, which is still on the counter.

Jensen picks it up and slips it into his pocket, while his headache revs up again.

*

For a couple of days, Jensen thinks of Jared as a freak accident. With less emphasis on the ‘freak’ and the ‘accident’ part, and more emphasis on the ‘Jared’ part.

Maybe Chad is right (“You don’t even know if he likes dick, man. Go get you some dick and stow the Harlequin”), and he needs to get laid. Repeatedly. It’s not like he’s going through a dry spell.

Besides, love at first sight doesn’t exist. Life isn’t a Cinderella movie, even if Jared did run out without his toaster’s knob.

*

Getting some has never been a problem before. Right after the divorce papers got finalized and Jeff became a figure in the rear-view mirror, Jensen dove right back in the scene. He’s attractive enough to have guys flocking to him, and he’s standoffish enough to keep them at arm’s length if they get too attached. Burned once, etc.

Lately though? He still loves it when cute boys suck him off, but he’s not really into it. Like, meh. Five out of five for technique, Gary-or-George, one and a half for the overall experience.

“Do you wanna maybe do it again?” Gary-or-George asks him while still on his knees, still licking his lips, and Jensen is hard-pressed not to laugh.

“No, sorry, man.” 

He throws in a smile to take the sting off, then he tucks himself in and gets the hell out of the club. He needs some fresh air, a clearer head, maybe a smoke. What he gets is Jared - talk about coincidences - lounging just outside the door and laughing at some older dude’s remark about ‘the sex they just had, sweetheart’.

Uh. 

Well, that clears the ‘is he into dick’ question right up. Now Jensen just has to figure out how to make a good second impression and inform Jared that he’d be a willing, enthusiastic participant to any further sex acts Jared may want to have. There or anywhere else. Right away or tomorrow, or whenever. Because. Reasons.

“Hey there,” he says.

“Hey!”

Older Dude looks unimpressed at Jensen’s intrusion, but Jared seems pleased to see him. Dimples don’t lie. Time to be smooth and seductive, Ackles, smooth and seductive, and don’t—

“So, did you fix the toaster?”

—do that. Goddamn it. These are the times in which he’d like to channel his inner Klaus and get an emotional support ghost. To, you know, punch him in the face when he says stupid shit like this. Older Dude chuckles, but Jared doesn’t seem put off by it.

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “I know it’s a piece of crap, but it belonged to my grandma. She passed last month.”

Jared shrugs again, and Jensen feels like an asshole. A slimy, shitty asshole who is maybe a pro at his job, yes, but lacks in basic human decency. Why didn’t he investigate a little before starting with the store policy spiel? Embarrassed, Jensen shoves both hands in his pockets, and touches the small toaster knob. He’s been carrying it around without really meaning to, with vague intentions to give it back should he ever met Jared again. He curls his fingers around it.

“Listen—”

And that must be Older Dude’s cue to intervene, because he then leans over and murmurs something into Jared’s ear. Jared nods and sends Jensen an apologetic smile. 

“I gotta run, sorry. But I think you were right, grandma’s toaster is a lost cause.”

“No, no, bring it to the store tomorrow, I’ll look at it,” Jensen says. “Besides—”

Older Guy gives Jared a nudge, and they start heading back into the club. Jared turns around once and waves before the door shuts down. “Bye!”

It echoes a little around Jensen’s heart. He sighs.

“Besides,” he tells the empty parking lot, “I’ve got your toaster’s knob.” Beat. “And was that your boyfriend?”

Second chances have never been Jensen’s thing anyway.

*

“So you ran into him.”

“Yes.”

“And he was, like, banging Grandpa Simpson?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Chad. First of all, I was married to a ‘Grandpa’, you know. Then, it’s Monday morning, I’m at work, I’m hungover and pissed and polishing a set of steak knives.” He demonstrates with a flourish, drawing an eight in the air with one of the aforementioned knives. “What does that suggest to you?”

“Maybe he likes it ancient as much as you did.” To go on, apparently, is what Chad thinks. “You could, I dunno, stop dying your hair, charm him with the power of grey—”

He glares. “I don’t dye my hair, dude, just how old do you think I am?”

“…late thirties?”

It’s like deja-vu, only with less Danneel and more Chad. Jared has managed to sneak up on him (again), overhear embarrassing stuff about him (again), and he’s carrying his grandma’s toaster (again). Chad salutes Jared with one of the forks from the set, while Jensen shakes his head.

“I’m forty-one, but thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says. He gets up then, leaving Chad to deal with the rest of the cutlery. It’s a calculated risk: Jensen has learned the hard way about how much damage an unsupervised Chad can cause, but he figures he’s got at least five minutes before Chad manages to nick an artery or cause himself other harm.

“So.”

“So.”

Jared taps his fingers against the side of the toaster. It looks even worse than Jensen remembered, the cracks in the plastic a bit deeper and the lever askew, so out of place among all the luxury kitchen appliances on display, but. _But._

“I heard your offer. Sorry I had to go, Sandy was about to cut the cake and she wanted a group picture with everybody in it.”

Oh, right. ‘Everybody’ means Jared and the maybe-boyfriend too, of course. “It’s okay,” Jensen lies, and a hint of the fake, trust-me-I’m-a-pro smile slips in. “Show me the toaster, I’ll see what I can do.”

Jared blinks. “Wait, are you in charge of the workshop too? That’s cool.”

“Unofficially. On paper, that position belongs to Chad, but you know.”

“You talking shit about me again, Ackles?”

Jensen and Jared exchange a look, then they start laughing. And this is it, Jensen’s third time, his charm. He can’t fuck it up now, because the universal law won’t allow it. The maybe-boyfriend can shove it. He pulls the knob out of his pocket and shows it to Jared, still cradled in his palm.

“This is yours, by the way. You left it here.”

“Oh!” 

Dimples again, full frontal, full force, and Jensen has just enough time to think about how he’d like to kiss them before Jared sweeps him into a hug. It’s so tight it probably cracks a few of Jensen’s ribs, and the toaster lever is cutting a hole into his stomach, but it’s the best hug he’s received in a long while.

“I thought I lost it.”

“No,” Jensen says after Jared releases him and he’s able to breathe again. “I had it. I wanted to give it back yesterday, but you went inside with your boyfriend and I didn’t want to intrude.”

Jared’s eyebrows go up. “My what?”

“Your boyfriend?”

“You mean Stephen?” Jared shoots him an amused glance and shakes his head. “Stephen and I have a friends with benefits agreement. Nothing else.”

The wedding bells start up again inside Jensen’s head, and this time, the smile he gives Jared has a pro-percentage of zero. It’s a real, _I’m about to ask you out_ kind of smile.

Third times and all that, man. He can’t lose.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Springfling 2019  
> \- sammichgirl and V. on beta-duties (thanks! <3)  
> \- Robbie Williams & Bob Sinclair (Title)  
> \- Stephen Amell is 10 years older in this fic


End file.
